


Tired

by Slim Shady (NoraPenblood)



Category: Homestuck, MS Paint Adventures
Genre: Blood, Disassociation, Gen, Mentions of child neglect, Mentions of childhood abuse, Parental Abuse, Self Harm, Violent Thoughts, destructive thoughts, its not graphic but its still pretty obvious, this is a vent fic and mostly just. me putting my own shit on this poor boy, unreality, violent impulses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-08
Updated: 2016-02-08
Packaged: 2018-05-19 00:37:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5949430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NoraPenblood/pseuds/Slim%20Shady
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This was just exhaustion.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tired

**Author's Note:**

> Major TW for self harm, negative self image, some stuff that is potentially really triggering and I highly suggest you don't read this if you're under 18. I mostly wrote this as a personal vent thing but I don't want anyone to think they should hurt themselves as a solution to their problems - it's not a great one, I promise.

Dave’s got his lips pursed, tongue tight between his teeth – he can taste copper but it barely registers. It’s quiet in here, in this nasty little apartment. The only real light in the room is the lamp in the corner, casting him in a comforting glow that doesn’t really befit the scene that’s being displayed.

There’s a considerable amount of blood and that’s his fault, but it isn’t necessarily something that he had planned on doing. He rarely planned this shit, it usually just happened when he got that itching under his fingertips and the urge to feel his knuckles split against someone else’s teeth. Spilling blood would help. Sometimes he’d just get off – sometimes that’d make it go away. 

This time, though, his hurried mind hadn’t been soothed by the simpler sins of the flesh. He had been laying in here for hours now, nursing a half-hard cock and a bottle of beer in turn, but the weird little hum in his shoulders, the tenseness, hadn’t faded yet. 

He’d turned to something sharper after one more try – one more attempt at normalcy before he decided to send himself back to the old solution. And really, well, he was old enough to be past this. He was old enough to not have to use this as a crutch, but also to realize that it didn’t necessarily mean he was going to hurt himself too bad. He wasn’t young and fancying that someone would burst in and say they were sorry, that they weren’t mad, that they loved him. He had grown up knowing his brother was watching. He had grown up knowing Bro had seen when he’d carve himself up like the littlest turkey dinner. He’d grown up knowing love was fucking fake and that he didn’t deserve anything but the sting of his knuckles against the concrete and the crack of bone until his ears were ringing and his brother was laughing. 

This time it was himself. This time it was a pin knife and not a sword, an addition to a collection of scars that, for a few months back in the prime of his youth, he had thought were poetic. They spoke of his troubles, they spoke of what he’d endured, what he hadn’t deserved. 

He’d grown since then, though. He no longer thought they were poetic and strong, he didn’t even think they were ugly and shameful. Now he was older and he knew that they were just scars. He knew they were just a product – an end result of a series of events in a timeline that didn’t matter and that nobody would miss.  
Pain was pain and this pain was head clearing. It was sharp and sudden but then it was over and there was blood and he could run his calloused fingertips across it and exhale, let the tension run from his shoulders, let out a little laugh. It was over now, and hey, nobody had even gotten hurt. Just him. Just Dave, and Dave would much prefer this result over going out and hurting someone else. He would rather do this a hundred times a day than turn into what his brother had fought so hard to make of him. 

He licks his lips, unlocks his jaw and exhales, just slightly shaky. He leans back against his pillows, lets his eyes drift up to the ceiling. It’s blurry but it’s better than putting on his glasses. He’d rather not have anything in focus right now. He knows it would only hurt him if he saw his own reflection, especially. He didn’t feel real enough to have to face off against himself. 

He was tired, but he did have a few things to do. He wasn’t sixteen anymore, he couldn’t go to bed with blood staining his skin and his pillow and wake up with his tongue dried to the roof of his mouth and the worst kind of disappointment in knowing that Bro hadn’t cared enough to come make sure he was alive. 

He pulled himself out of bed, holding his arm up carefully to keep from making a mess before he walked to the bathroom sink, rinsed himself off. He bandaged it, mostly because it was still stinging and he didn’t really know if he’d be able to sleep like that. Exhaling lazily, he wrapped himself up without having to think – he’d done it a hundred times. Maybe this would be the last time. Maybe he could control himself next time. It was unlikely, but he could think about it and it always made him feel better for a little while. The fantasy that he was done now, this had been the last time.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!! If you liked this, my blog is striderfvcker.tumblr.com
> 
> My SFW ao3 account is http://archiveofourown.org/users/striderfvcker/pseuds/striderfvcker


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